I had an appointment this morning and was running an hour late before I got home. I walked in the door and my mother had this panicked look on her face. Total panic.

She was terrified something had happened to me and all I could say was, come on Mom, I was only an hour late...

Kajal was in school and I couldn't see what the big deal was.

Talk about being selfish.

I love being an adult, love being my own boss and resented the guilt I felt at not checking in. I'm very blessed, my mother is a wonderful friend to me, a great mother and an incredible Grandmother. Living together has been very easy and Kajal has been so happy with our little family back together. I've embraced taking care of my mother and having another person to be responsible for. At least I thought I had. I didn't handle this well... tonight when my mother was heading to sleep she told me that it bothered her that I told her she 'shouldn't have worried' and of course, I handled it incredibly gracefully. I argued with her. I told her it was just an hour, that it wasn't a big deal. That I didn't want to have to check in or have to answer to her. She was hurt, I could see it but I was too frustrated to respond well.

My mother tends to think of the worst case scenario... I can't tell you how many times she hasn't reached me by phone for a day (when we lived in separate states) and when I finally connected with her she'd be in a panic, in tears, ready to get on a plane thinking that the worst had happened and I'd had a heart attack or been killed in a tragic accident. And of course, I would lose my patience. Several of these times I'd called her back only to find her phone turned off or she couldn't hear it ring... I may have even tried several times to no avail.

But tonight she brought up a good point as much as I hate to admit it. We do live together now and I need to be more considerate, recognize she worries and if I'm running late, let her know. Why couldnt' I just say that tonight instead of getting into it with her.

She brought up another point that scared the living daylights out of me, once I'd had some time to calm down and think about her words, after the fact of course. She told me she was scared that we didn't have a 'back up plan'. She doesn't walk well and can't drive. What if something did happen to me? My brother Phil is Kajal's guardian if anything really bad happened but he's in California.

What if I did get into an accident or get sick. I moved my family to a state where we know almost no one. I have one or two new friends... that's it. We're pretty much on our own. There's a young woman who is a total sweetheart who lives near by and has been helping with getting my mother to appointments when I'm working during the day. She lets me hire her by the hour to help us run errands and she is extremely kind. I also know one other incredible woman, my realtor who is fast becoming a cherished friend. I told my mother that I would ask them if they would be an emergency contact if something happened .... at least to pick Kajal up at school or get my mother to a grocery store. The realty is, in Boston, I had this massive network of people through Church, friendships and fellowship who cared about us and would have been there if anything happened. We weren't alone or on our own.

As I sit her thinking about being a single mother I realize I really do need a plan and I'm terrified at the risk I took to move to a new state so far from our support network. I'm terrified that something as small as breaking my leg or getting sick will leave my family vulnerable and struggling. I wonder if this leap that I took to move to better our life is really putting us at risk in ways I hadn't thought of.

As a single mom you take it one day at a time. You have faith that God will watch over you and support of love ones will help keep you sheltered from the storms. Your faith keeps you going but when the practical side hits like it did tonight, the fear can be overwhelming.

Tomorrow morning I'll owe my mother a huge apology. I'll make a plan, somehow and I'll promise to call, when I'm running late.